‘Maya, I hear you, but hasn’t this don’t-care-a-damn attitude already cost you your career? Look at all the new girls in B-town, currently, Miss India winner, Juhi Mehta, or, say, Rajni Gopalan, who’s switched tracks from Tamil cinema to Bollywood, or even Lisa Paul, international model turned actress, or, Kaya, daughter of yesteryear actress, Tarana, for that matter…every newbie is intent on usurping your number-one position. Ruhi, in fact, recently replaced you in the Pepsi campaign. Just saw her latest hoardings plastered across the city as I drove up here. I mean, is that the real reason you suddenly agreed to a film like Shabd, last year, a silent film that turned out to be a box-office disaster…experimentation or desperation?’ Razia frowned.
‘Ruhi bahut khubsurat hai. She reminds me of how I was in college…She’s sexy. Ruhi is hot. As for Shabd…it was probably just ahead of its time, I go by the script…’
‘Then, what’s with all those top directors – Vikram Bhatt, Ram Gopal Verma, Sanjay Leela Bhansali – replacing you with these PYT’s, at the drop of a hat? Five or six films, or is it more? And, why, why on earth, did you just drop out of that Nadiadwala film, days before shooting was to commence, this June, actually, exactly a week after Kulasheshtra’s death? You’ve even returned the full signing amount, one hears…Mumbai Blitz broke the news, with a sensational headline, “I need time to heal. I need more than just movies.” This coming so soon after Kulasheshtra’s whole death drama played out in media…’
I dabbed the corners of my mouth with a dry tissue: ‘It was a good headline, the article too, was well timed…’
‘The Maya Shirale, tinsel town’s longest-standing, lead actress who demanded a fee equal to heroes – a feat hitherto unachieved in an overwhelmingly patriarchal industry, delivering back-to-back hits, for so many years, in a row…why this sudden urge to heal? Heal from what? Amitabh Kulasheshtra? The memory of what you both supposedly shared? Also, the Blitz piece, as you may be aware, quoted industry insiders who claim you are refusing to entertain script-reading sessions and…there are strong rumours about you pulling out of the first-ever International Indian Film Academy Awards in October in London, where you were slated to receive a Lifetime Achievement award. And, even if that news hasn’t been fully confirmed, let’s face it: Except for a few blink-and-you-miss-them appearances in some random, page three parties, where have you been these past few months, Maya?’
I supressed a yawn. ‘Rumours are our rozi roti, keeping us pertinent in public memory, even when our films fail, affairs sour, when our lip jobs and liposuctions go awry. Scandal sells, like sex, Razia. Besides, let’s face it, my personal life has always created sensational headlines…the same rumour mills went into overdrive when I moved in with a younger man, an angry, rebellious, debutant Bengali director trying to make off-beat films in Bollywood. You know, when they saw Avi welcoming guests at my house-warming…three years ago. A guy who couldn’t get through NCD, a director with no past records, with a massive ego…who, days after his debut feature, bagged a National Award and went on to declare at a packed press conference that he’s interested only in dark, hard-hitting cinema…calling himself the baap of India’s noir revolution, claiming big stars too, will have no choice but to look him in the eye, in years to come. Avik even went on record to call Satyajit Ray overrated, as is Mr. Bachchan! Smirking at anything mass…’
‘Wait a minute, aren’t Avik and Kulasheshtra similar, in that regard? Is that why you chose him, Maya?’ Razia cut me short.
‘Who? What are you talking about?’
‘Avik Dasgupta, I interviewed AD, days after he bagged the National Award for Anubhuti, which he mockingly dedicated to Kulasheshtra, by the way. He said if Kulasheshtra hadn’t flunked him in the final stage of interviews at the National Centre of Drama, given such a negative feedback, he wouldn’t be where he was today. Kulasheshtra’s rejection shattered his self-worth to pieces, supposedly hardened him, making him immune to criticism, failure…It’s all over the Net,’ she pointed at my cell-phone, lying on the seat between us.
I picked it up, leaning forward. Razia looked away, embarrassed at my generously displayed cleavage…
‘I hate the internet, Razia…it’s fucked up this world, our sanity, our privacy. I can’t for the life of me understand why Avi needs to be constantly wired to it. He insists it’s his oxygen. Staring at his laptop for hours on end, glued to his tab, watching films, always on the phone, networking constantly. I’ve even started calling it my “souten” it’s, it’s a joke, really…’ I laughed.
‘That’s filmi!’
I winked: ‘Well, I am like that, I suppose. Filmi.’
My cell-phone vibrated just then. I disconnected the call, pushing my sunglasses over my head. Razia stared back at her writing pad. I watched her in silence for a while, how her kurti rode up over her thighs, the way she crossed her knees, defensively, every few seconds.
‘Maya, would you also agree that AD and you defy the conventional norms of celeb couple-dom? In the way that both of you lead separate lives, for instance?’ She cleared her throat.
‘Conventional?’
‘I mean, isn’t that the biggest grouse your critics bear against you, that for so many years, and, even as you ruled the box-office, reigning over commercial cinema, the real guys, so-called serious directors, never gave you as much of a second glance, calling you superficial and sexy, hardly an actor, more a performer? In fact, your contemporary, Sahana Mukherjee, who debuted a couple of months after you and was your fiercest rival at one point, has today gracefully graduated to becoming the face of alternate cinema in India. Maya, weren’t you jealous when AD mentioned in the Bombay Times front page interview after he won the National Award that Sahana was exactly his kind of heroine…you guys had already moved in together, by then? Still, he preferred Sahana, casting her as the lead in Anubhuti.’
She was trying to get me to react.
‘Sahana is more suited to the kind of roles Avik envisages. And, I’ve always gone on record to say that Avi has a keen eye for casting. Think it’s to do with his theatre background…the way he doesn’t confuse commerce while characterizing,’ I calmly clarified, applying a fresh coat of lip colour.
‘Talking about theatre, Maya, wasn’t Amitabh Kulasheshtra also planning to cast you in a film he was to allegedly direct…almost a decade ago…?’ she quickly put in her next question.
‘It was a long time ago…’
My phone buzzed again on my lap.
‘It’s Avi…he’s calling again…’ I muttered, distractedly.
‘Do you love AD, Maya? Is Maya Shirale ready to settle down with Avik Dasgupta? Is that what you meant by wanting more than movies?’
‘Avi hates that phrase “settling down”, Razia. He finds marriage regressive and stifling…His own parents had a sort of long distance marriage that he seldom brings up. His dad was in the army. Avi says there was hardly a time he saw his folks do anything together, as a couple. Guess it’s why he lacks a substantive memory of them as a family. At least, it’s what I tell him, hoping, perhaps to explain his insistent hatred of anything conventionally or socially “pleasant”. Avi’s cynicism is far too deep-seated,’ I tried to explain.
‘Like…like your own arrogance, Maya? You know, dodging reporters, arriving late for commercial shoots, quoting sky-high rates, walking out on producers at the last minute, asking them to rewrite scenes as per your wishes and even insisting they drop top heroes; forcing directors to reschedule overseas shoots citing something as basic as a migraine, demanding first-class air tickets and hotel accommodation for each of your support staff…this crazy addiction to sleeping pills and chain smoking, that is widely publicized…a sort of self-annihilating lifestyle…is it also a deep-seated reaction to something, something deeper, perhaps?’
‘Everyone has heard stories of my past. It’s all related to my father, Razia. What he did to me, all those years ago, in that squalid housing colony in Pune…’ I was tiring of this tirade.
; ‘Is that all, Maya?’
‘Isn’t that enough? I don’t understand what more you want out of me, Razia…this is the truth, or, at least, as close to the damn truth that I’ve ever got with a media person. Besides, you have had a lot more than twenty minutes,’ I said emphatically, hoping to wind up the Q&A there and then.
‘I know, and I am grateful for the audience granted, Maya. But, all this on your father has been quoted earlier. It’s public information, where you’re concerned, since you’ve always been explicit about your past…’ Razia was relentless.
‘So? What makes you question it now?’
‘Because, I don’t think you came here to forget that pain, Maya…this sea, this expanse of nothingness that you watch so carefully, studying it like a lifeguard…this eerie silence…when someone likes you removes her masks…one by one…it can’t be only for what her father did to her,’ she looked intently into my eyes.
‘Let’s talk about all this, some other time, Razia…’ I waved out at Alam.
Razia watched him start the car.
Then, just as I lit my last cigarette, she pursed her lips again: ‘Maya, look, I’m going to be as blunt as I can. Were you involved in a romantic relationship with Amitabh Kulasheshtra, as was speculated almost a decade back when he had allegedly walked out of his home, and marriage? Was Kulasheshtra actually coming to Mumbai, to see you, two months, ago, before this unfortunate incident? Did you know he was on his way here the day that he died?’
AVIK DASGUPTA
I watched Maya sleep, her lips trembling every now and then, her left hand resting lightly on her chest. I planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, careful not to wake her. It was 10 am. Maya had missed her aqua aerobics class at the Bombay Gymkhana Club. Her discarded negligee lay casually dropped on the carpeted floor. Its colour flaming red; its length short – like she was wearing the day our paths first crossed in Filmistan Studios, almost three years ago.
I remembered our first encounter distinctly. I was visiting the sets of Benaam Mohabbat. The Second Assistant Director was a friend of mine. Srinivas had promised to introduce me to his producer who was supposedly taking the leading lady out for dinner. It was a late-night shoot at Mehboob Studios. When the shot was over, Maya sauntered up to me, a complete stranger. ‘Was the shot okay?’ she had asked smiling coquettishly and walked off without waiting for me to reply.
‘Frankly, you could have done better,’ I called after her, raising my voice on purpose, acting as if I didn’t know who she was, and that I cared two hoots for her so-called celebrity status.
She had stopped, turned around, and walked back to me. Then deliberately leaning in close she reached into my shirt pocket for my mobile phone. She gave herself a missed call from my phone, and handed it back to me, bringing her lips close to my ear: ‘Save it, and call me so I can get some tips from you next time, babumoshai…’ she had whispered throatily.
Srinivas had looked thoroughly embarrassed, trying to introduce us, clumsily. Maya didn’t acknowledge him. She just waved at me and walked off.
I didn’t call her, of course, though I ensured that I saved her number in my phone book, seconds after she sashayed away.
I next saw Maya a few months later at an awards ceremony where was I Srinivas’s plus one, and, later at the after party organized by the same film magazine. I didn’t talk to her during the party, and neither did she make an effort to greet me or make eye contact, and yet there was something that compelled me to follow her, wordlessly, into the VIP enclosure where her Mercedes was parked, post-midnight, as she exited all by herself, unescorted; a rarity in Maya’s case.
Her regular driver, Alam, she mentioned later, had called in sick.
Maya too was running a slight temperature.
I closed my eyes, thinking back to how we’d paid off the badli driver in a rush, making torrid love in the backseat. Maya was as smashed as I had been. She didn’t even bother asking me my name. It probably was just another one-night stand for her, I told myself. But we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, even kissing desperately in the lift after I drove her home, her thighs wrapped tightly around mine; my fly still undone. It wasn’t the first time I was having sex with a total stranger…and yet…
Now I stubbed out my cigarette and studied Maya again. She was sleeping on her stomach now. The curve of her buttocks made me hard instantly.
My first film-shoot for Anubhuti had commenced approximately eight months after that one night of passion with Maya, and I had left for Ladakh. I’d made no attempt to contact Maya, to inform her of the same, and nor did she reach out to me, to thank me for driving her home. Anyway, it was the night of the last outdoor. It was snowing heavily. I’d never experienced snowfall like that before. It was so starkly white all around, I felt incredibly alone. Like this hole had opened up inside me…
I don’t know why, all of a sudden, I began missing my father, missing him physically, after years. I was utterly desolate, somewhere my heart was breaking. Then out of the blue, I dialled Maya.
A part of me was anxious that I had blown my chances with her. Or, that she had in all probability, either forgotten, or never really registered me. I mean, Maya Shirale had quite a reputation…
Now, I reached out and gently stroked her hair. I had never told Maya why I had called her from Ladakh, in the middle of the night. The same way I had never brought up my dead father or spoken of my actual feelings for her.
It was a kind of silent pact we had. We would never discuss our past. Dissect our mistakes.
We still didn’t…
Just then Maya turned on her side, slowly opening her eyes, and wrapped her arms around my waist. ‘What’s the matter, babumoshai? You look unhappy after last night’s sex. I thought you liked doing it that way? Want another go?’
I was peeved. ‘I hate it when you make it sound like that, so damn vulgar.’
‘Vulgar? C’mon, Avi. Stop behaving like a little boy. Sulking again, bad day at work, last night, huh?’
‘I thought you liked me acting like a little lost boy. Isn’t that what you had called me after dumping my script for Anubhuti in the dustbin?’
Maya propped herself up against a satin cushion: ‘I just love how you Bong men are always so agitated! Come on, it’s going to rain any minute. I want you inside me. I want you deeper…one more time. But go shave, first. I have scratch marks all over my cleavage.’
‘Whatever you say, madam, it’s your house, after all,’ I said irately, and got up from the bed.
Maya grabbed my arm: ‘Uff! Okay, sorry, baba…Avi, stop…tell me…what were you trying to say? Earlier? You mentioned you needed to talk…’
‘Well, that can wait, but shaving obviously can’t. Besides, look at the state of my Bong manhood!’
‘Just talk to me, please. I know you’ve been trying all of last week…I’ll get you aroused again, no problem. I know what works.’
I sat down with a sigh. ‘Okay, I give in.’ I turned to look her in the eye: ‘Maya, is everything okay with us? Between us, I mean, and I am not talking about this shit.’
‘Calling sex shit? That’s the best part about us; that no matter what, we always manage to get the formula correct in bed! This shit always gets better with us! C’mon, babumoshai, you must agree?’
‘And is that all it is, Maya? We’ve been seeing each other for a while now and still I have no clue about your whereabouts when you leave for the day. You switch off your cell for hours. Knowing that I will worry and stay up just staring at the door. Do you know how many times I called Alam all through last week?’ A part of me was furious at how I was beginning to sound like the whiny woman in our relationship.
‘I must’ve been tied up with something. C’mon Avi, you’re pretty preoccupied yourself. Besides, it’s not like I’ve stopped giving you just the kind of the attention you like the best.’
‘I hate it when you generalize stuff…’
‘Then what is this about, all of a sudden? The morning af
ter we fuck like rabbits?’
‘Must you always be this graphic?’
‘Oh, stop with your self-righteous crap, Avi, and tell me what is really going on, huh? What’s on your fucking mind? Is it that Blitz article that seems to have suddenly become the talk of town?’
‘Perhaps it is. Why did you take Razia Siddiqui from Filmworld magazine to Chowpatty, Maya? Hiding even that simple fact from me? And what was that about Kulasheshtra being the love of your life?’
‘Alam – that bastard has been talking to you again! I’m going to fire that swine. He’s gotten too big for his boots. How dare he two-time me, bloody chutiya!’
‘Why, Maya? Why will you take away his job, just because he was honest with me, when I kept calling to check on you, to just make sure you were okay, after the production team told me you had left with Razia after wrapping up the shoot? Who’s at fault here? Alam, because he cares a helluva lot about you, or me, because I care more?’
‘I, Maya Shirale, happen to pay Alam’s salary, Avi. He better do what I say! Even if that means keeping his mouth shut. Saala namakharam.’
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